Let the Flames Begin
by Keeragh McLaughlin
Summary: Dramione one shot. Wrote this after finding quite the cult following for Dramione on Tumblr. So this is for you tumblr people! Please review, I do love feedback; good or bad!


She should have hated him.

By all rights they were supposed to be enemies. He was the serpent in the grass and she was the lioness waiting to pounce. Serpents had always been portrayed as evil in history. Yet in her extensive knowledge, Hermione Granger was unable to justify her unfathomable attraction to Draco Malfoy.

Perhaps it was the fact that he had what she had always wanted. It was no secret that Hermione wanted to be respected in the wizarding world. She wanted the power and prestige that the Malfoy's had. Though her morals were correct, it would be a lie to say Hermione hadn't fantasized about having the world at her feet as Draco did. With endless wealth and a political father, Draco could and did have anything he wanted. Of course Hermione's morals told her the price was too high.

Hermione knew that she could never be as evil as Draco's father was. She would never be able to sell her soul to someone who simply marginalized a minority out of spite. Voldemort was much like the muggle Hitler. He had picked a group to hate, a group he was at least half part of. Then he had decided the only way to deal with this hate was to have his many minions go out and destroy them.

Though she was capable of many things, cold blooded murder was not one of them. Yet Draco had never murdered anyone. He had been at the tower, misguided and press ganged into Voldemort's service to make up for his father's failures. But he hadn't been the one to take Dumbledore's life. Harry had told her that. Hermione's heart had leaped into her throat when she heard that.

But where was he now? Hermione was sure that Draco hadn't returned to Hogwarts, but after hearing Snape was headmaster and Death Eater's were teachers, her thoughts changed. Now she could see him, sitting in the dim light of the Potions classroom. She remembered the glances she had stolen back at him, wondering if a hair ever fell out of place. She'd wondered if it was possible for someone to have such beautiful eyes or such a cold glare. What she had ever done to warrant such a cold glare, Hermione found herself unable to remember.

Was part of the allure of Draco Malfoy that he was so different from what she knew? Sitting in a tent somewhere in Wales, Hermione knew she was with the two most important people in her life. Harry was the boy who lived. He had always been far greater than either Ron or Hermione. He had constantly outshone them. He was the hope of the wizard world and only his name would be remembered in the stories. Ron was...Ron. He was as mundane as the countryside and as ineloquent as a first year.

In comparison, her companions failed. Not because of whom they were. Hermione loved them dearly for whom they were. Simply it was the fact that they were accessible and Draco was not. He was always separated from her. On the train, in the Great Hall, during classes; Hermione was always kept away from what intrigued her most. That was the allure. For one with an inquisitive mind, mystery did not sit well. She had spent nights thinking of Draco and imagining what it would be like if she could just remove that hard shell of cruelty and expectation.

Yet things had become so very difficult for her generation, Hermione was unsure as to whether she'd ever see Draco again. The memory of the last time she had seen him still burned in her mind. He had sat in the Great Hall, the look of defeat that had haunted his features for most of last year, bright in comparison to his dull companions. Hermione hadn't even noticed pug-faced Pansy or the imbeciles Crabbe and Goyle. She had only seen Draco, his eyes cast downwards at the plate of food he hadn't touched. She had never seen him so pale. He seemed to radiate a source of sorrow throughout the Great Hall. It was a source that only those who had observed his behaviour over the past weeks would recognize. A fit of pity had gripped her stomach, and she had been forced to look away as Ron and Harry had engaged her once more, in a conversation about homework.

When she finally had the chance to steal another glance and Draco, he had abandoned his plate and was missing from the Great Hall. Hermione had longed to follow him, but she wouldn't have known where to look. She would have asked Harry to borrow his Marauder's Map, but risked the suspicion of her friends and the breaking of her vow only to use it for good. Unfortunately, keeping tabs on Draco Malfoy was not for the greater good.

As she sat staring into the pale flames of the feeble fire, Hermione couldn't help but feel regret for the wasted years of glances and hate she had spent on Draco. It would be idiotic of her not to realize that they had reached a point of no return. Draco had made his allegiance very clear and Hermione had done the same. They stood on different sides of a brewing war that they would both fight in.

The hope inside Hermione fought to say that Draco would not stay loyal to the Dark Lord. He would abandon Voldemort, see reason, and flee from his safety and security of wealth and former position to protect the good. But if he were to do that, Hermione knew he would have been placed in a different house seven years ago. He would have been a Gryffindor and they could have spent countless nights together, sitting by the fire in the common room. He was a Slytherin and a Malfoy through and through.

As much as she wished, dreamed, hoped, and fantasized, Hermione could not ignore the truth. No matter the end of this war, Draco would forever be removed from her. He was the dream that could not be realized and she was the dreamer trying to force it into reality. It was a struggle that would prove futile. If Harry did manage to find and destroy all the Horcruxes and Voldemort with them, her future would be barred from Draco. The Death Eaters would be rounded up and imprisoned or killed. If the final battle went the other way, she would be one of the casualties for Hermione had no place in Voldemort's new regime.

Her ever logical mind presented another option for her heart to pursue. Ron. Ever the mundane, he did posses qualities that were admirable. He was brave and loyal, a fierce friend and deep beneath his ignorance, kind. Ron would stay with her, they would grow old together, and she would be happy. It was a cookie cutter, apple pie life that everyone seemed to dream of. Hermione had always dreamed of something greater. Her ambitions had been what forced her academic habits and excellence. She knew she was meant for things greater than being a loving parent to wonderful family and an utterly devoted spouse. It was a beautiful ideal of life and only lacked one thing; excitement.

After spending seven years being friends with Harry Potter, mundane was unacceptable. She had battled a cave troll, outwitted the protections of her teachers, discovered what had been released from the chamber of secrets, freed a good man, helped the youngest Triwizard Tournament Champion claim his prize, fought alongside the Order of the Phoenix, and protected Hogwarts. The idea of settling down after building such an impressive resume seemed silly. But perhaps Ron would allow her to live her life as she wanted. He would be supportive, as he was in any academic venture. Maybe he would stand by her as she announced her candidacy for Minister of Magic.

As Hermione thought of these things, she began to see limitations in her Draco fantasies. If she married Draco, she would have power and prestige handed to her. She would become part of one of the most respected pure blood (well not entirely) families. She wouldn't need to run for Minister, but could simply sway the Minister with her influence. She would become a socialite, part of the wizard elite. That was not the life Hermione had ever imagined for herself.

Ever since she was small, Hermione had pictured a nice cozy home, full of laughter and love. She had pictured herself becoming a famous author or discovering the cure to a disease. She had pictured greatness and comfort walking hand in hand. As she had grown, she had begun to realize that they would not always harmonize as she had pictured. Comfort was to be earned where as greatness was either a birthright, an achievement, or thrust upon oneself. Greatness was a lonely pursuit, something she could create for herself. Comfort was from finding someone who would love you regardless of circumstance and giving your heart wholly to them. As she thought about it, the more likely candidate to award her the dream life wasn't the one who plagued her thoughts.

Letting go of something you coveted so greatly wasn't easy. Angrily, Hermione poked the fire with a stick. She had built it the muggle way, difficulty. It was hard to get started, but once it caught, it seemed to stay no matter how feeble it grew. In a way, the muggle way of building the fire could have been a metaphor for her feelings for Draco. For three years she had hated him. Then, slowly she had become enamoured with him. Now that feeling had become so strong, she found it impossible to let go of. Over time, the feeling would become weaker. Yet she would always remember it.

With that thought, Hermione stood. She had decided. Though it would be difficult, she would let go of her feelings for Draco. They would fade like the fire, and eventually they would die out. But she would always remember the heat of the flames at their strongest. She looked down at the fire once more, her heart pounding unnecessarily loud. Raising the wand from her pocket, Hermione sighed, and spoke one word.

"Aguamenti,"

Instantly the flames were extinguished.


End file.
